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recovering through her mysterious death of her classmate, Ava Turner is spiralled into an uncertain labyrinth to find her classmate's murderer. but with her own arguable conscience , will she succeed in her motive? or will she fall in the dungeon of her own doubts?

Mystery / Thriller
Age Rating:


The first ray of day breaking is like a beginning of a new phenomena. It's the natural reminder of forgetting the past things and moving on. In many religions, morning is the pious time of day to commence a new work, or to pray to their respective lords. For human beings, it's the natural alarm to do something practical.

Or as anyone says.

It's the best time to start a life.

But what if the life has already ceased to exist?

Before the dawn?

Before the awakening of the world?

What if?

The supposed life , has already fallen?


Well we all are. aren't we?

Dawn, is the most natural way to break in houses. Something that you can't put a restraining order against.

It breaks through your windows and illuminates the whole room. Maybe your soul too.

But today.

It won't.

Because today's the day.

I don't wanna face.

All these things that we are conversing on. The room? It's situated in my head. It's dark. But as the sun knocked up on my window. A red streak of thick line formed in the darkness.

It's time now..

In 3 , 2, 1.

Hey , sun.

Came to greet me again?

Sorry. But not today. You won't affect me.today.

"get ready."

It's time. Isn't it?

"Sure, mother."

I never found this room as mine. Sure it was mine to live in alone. But it's never comforting enough.

Even though I bought many consoling things to make this a humanized room. Computer, MCU wall posters, big sized bed with the Avengers logo on it. Shelves of books. I just have to get out of this room. Somehow.

I cross over the room and went to the wardrobe. There I saw shirts,jeans and jackets. And one dress.

Courtesy of someone.

I chose the dress, flung it on my bed and stood there with quiet introspection.

The colour of the dress was black. It's hems flowing to the foot. With a built in jacket on it. I don't know what to call it? I don't have much of a taste.

But it's kinda like a draped shawl with studded patterns of clouds and celestial bodies.

In 15 min I am halfway through the stairs. And I see the the photos hugging the wall. The only thing which welcomes your memories. But now they hurt..they hurt so much that you wanna scramble your brain out and put it in again after throwing all the trash.

Involuntarily, my hand moved up.

And in one swipe all the photos came crashing down.…the stairs. That's how my memories goes

..down at the bottom. Shattered.

No cussing yet. So maybe they are out.

I quickly start grabbing those frames and throwed them in the bottom drawer of the shelf. In this process, the last round of this silent activity turned out to be quite fatal as my hand lethally got cut by a shard.while picking up the last remains.remains of my time.

So I had to run to the bathroom and clean the wound and in front of the mirror, my eyes finally rested upon my materialistic existence. And a weird sense of euphoria came to me…all the improvement that occured in last 12 months, in me?

They were all gone.

The hardwork of someone's motivation was butchered across the human canvas.

There was nothing now. Nothing.

Somehow I got to the car. Sat down. One of the grateful things of this house?

We don't talk.

At all .

Well, besides arguments or cussing, we don't.

As I exited our of the car, my mother asked me.

"What happened to your hand?"

There was no concern in her eyes, nor was any affection. But just a random curiosity. Even asking a strangers baby in stroller about their age is more affectionate.

"Got cut by glass."


And then her indignant face was on verge of breaking.morphing into an incoming eruption of cusses..

"Mother, can we do this later?"

"Do you think you'll get out of this just because-"

"Glad you cleared out the garbage on the stairway."

The man sitting next to her spoke. He's my paternal guardian.

And as I Opened my mouth to say something.he drove off.

He left all of us. In the hinge of climax.

Unspoken words. Unspoken cusses.

And I watched the car steer away from the street.

There's nothing that man can't make worse.

To clear my head off, I took a sigh

And turned over. Facing the church.

The bells were chiming.

This can be the most weird complication of time,

Because it was coordinating three phases of life.

Birth. Marriage. Death

Yes. It was. As I crossed the gates of the church , I heard a baby's cry. And then a sound. Gurgling,foaming . And erupting cheers.

As I passed by one of the marriage halls…i heard the remaining vow of the groom and then the question.

"Do you take _, as your lawfully wedded wife?

And then the awaited words.

" I do"

"You may kiss the bride."

And then more eruption.

When I stood in front of the last door.

There was no sound. There was no activity.

There was dead silence. Emphasis on silence, yes it was death.

You see, that's where the death was presiding upon. Arranging for his new soul to exit this planet.

And also his body.

There was no eruption. No cheers..no clinking of glasses. There was dead silence.

I open the closed doors..to welcome another of the mourners. Me.

I scan the picturesque room.the room was full. Nine seats to be taken. So I stand at the back. Where no speck of light fell on me. My face hidden in the shadow. Just a still non-existent mourner. So I scanned for the casket. Where he is.

Not so much hard to find the cause of an event. Even though your eyes don't wanna look for it. Maybe you just have entered in the wrong room. Maybe it's in the next room. Your wedding with him.

But it's not. The reality comes crushing on me.

This place is real. The event is real. I am real.

All is real.

But he's not. No more.

And then the priest came. Stood alongside of the coffin.

And the voice that I never wanted to heard rang through my ears.like death metal. I despise death metal. So did he.

"We all are gathered here today. To celebrate the life of Ray Lake. High school senior of Montmartre high , literature club leader,friend,brother , son.…"

And like that 2 hours, he drove on.

I was drowning in his words. But unable to make it out.whatever he was saying, I wasn't part of it like everyone else.

This is not how he wanted his funeral.to be.at all.

Somehow the service ended. And it was time for everyone to pay tribute. Almost everyone came to the podium and said a thing or two about him.

I didn't go. Because to them , I am no one.

It won't be good.

And speaking about someone's reality.. to a crowd who faced his other side is really not comforting.

As I stood in the stage. To offer him the tribute..I simply placed the tulip in his hands.

And I was lost. Lost from the present. The situation.

I didn't feel anything. I was just looking over him.

Introspecting his face, his neck, his arms…

And my mind grabbed my conscience and took me to 12 months ago.

Where it all started.

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